Dewar's Scotch Whiskey
by Sinner and saint
Summary: He walks into the Diner with Tattoos on his head and nowhere to go. He moves into the Motel with only a Backpack and a Bottle of Dewar's Scotch Whiskey. He has a Record of felonies, Panic Attacks and drinks much more than he should, but she just can't leave this lonely boy with the beautiful smile and the sad eyes alone. After season 7.


Saturday, January 26, 2019

5:06 PM

Beth sees him exit a small pick up truck that stops just in front of the Diner. His eyes are lowered and he gives the driver a few crinkled dollar bills, before the car goes back onto the road and leaves him standing on the side of the highway.

He is not carrying anything but an old rucksack, and when he comes in he doesn't really look at anything or anyone before heading for one of the empty booths by the window. Its Tuesday and just before midnight which means that the few other guests in the Diner are either travelers or drunks, heading for a nice warm meal before going to bed.

Beth is by his side, only a minute after he sat down, notepad in hand and a tired smile on her face.

"Welcome at Harry's, what can I bring you?" she repeats the same sentence she has said a few hundred times today.

He looks up and Beth is surprised when she sees his face. Tatoos are visible from his almost bald head, peeking out from under the hood, he has a few bruises and a cut just on his right cheekbone and when she looks just a bit lower, she sees a white bandage around his throat.

And his eyes.

How did a Person have such sad eyes? Even when he looks up to her and gives her a small, polite smile that you give waitresses, his eyes look like someone had just broken his heart.

He seemed just as tired as everyone else in the place, the white light from the lamps above made his skin pale, almost sickly, and the dark circles under his eyes stood out in strong contrast.

"How much is the Burger with Fries?" he asks.

"8.50."

He nods and swallows hard.

"Just the Burger then, please." he says and she nods and walks off.

He eats slowly, hood up and back to the wall at the very end of the Diner. Every time someone comes in, he looks up and stops for just a second, before he keeps going.

An hour later and his plate is empty, but he hasn't moved. He orders a beer and Beth brings him the last cold bottle they have and asks him if he want's to pay.

He shakes his head.

"Honey, we close in 15 minutes." she tells him.

He seems confused and suddenly sits up straight.

"The Sign outside says open 24h."

"That's only on weekends."

She sees him visibly deflate at the information.

"I'll take the bill then, please." he says and mumbles "Fuck" when she walks off.

By the time she brings him the little paper piece with the number 10.00, he is the last guest left and the cook grunts that he is packing up.

He pays in coins and when Beth collects the money from the table he asks her for the closest motel.

"It's about a 20 minute drive down the highway." she tells him.

She knows. It's where she is staying as well and she is sure that there are some free rooms. Not many people come through this Part of Oregon, and even less during the week.

He leaves and Beth pack up, too tired to change out of her uniform, she just grabs her back and heads to the old car standing in the parking lot, climbs in and drives off.

The highway was dark, nothing outside of her cars lights really visible and it is a mix of luck and fate when she spots a dark figure wandering down the highway.

And she knows she shouldn't stop, because she didn't know this man. He had been injured, meaning that there was at least one Person out there who had a reason to want to hurt him, but she also knew that she couldn't just let him keep walking the dark streets this late at night.

So she did stop and when he approached, she stepped out of the car.

"It's gonna take you 2 hours to get to the Motel." she said, one ram on the top of the car.

he shrugs.

"I got no car."

Beth frowned.

"You got a gun?" she asks him.

He nods.

"Got one in my bag."

"Is that the only weapon?"

again he nods.

"Alright. Throw it into the trunk. I'll take you."

For a moment he looks confused, as if he didn't understand why she would help him, but then he throws the old bag into the back of her car and climbs into the passenger seat.

She starts up the car again and he is silent so she talks.

"What's your name?"

When he doesn't answer immediately she looks over to him and sees him staring out into the darkness.

"Juan Carlos."

She doesn't know if she believes him, because it looks like the name seems new to him as well. As if he doesn't like how it tastes on his tongue and he grimaces after saying it out loud.

"I'm Beth."

She figures she can give him some information in exchange.

The Neon sign of the Motel can be seen from afar and the silence in the car is getting uncomfortable.

So, Beth does what she usually does when she doesn't know what else to do.

She talks.

"I'm staying at the Motel as well. Got here about 2 weeks ago. It's quite shit, I gotta warn you, but it's cheap."

He nods and she feels like a fool.

When they finally arrive, she turns to him.

"It was nice to meet you, Juan Carlos." she says and again he looks confused before he quickly replies.

"Nice to meet you too, Beth."

And then he smiles, a more honest smile than before and disappears in the direction of the Motel reception.

The clock shows 3.49 AM when Beth wakes up. She doesn't know why, until she hears a low moan and she falls back into bed groaning. It's not the first time that her night's sleep is interrupted by the carnal noises from of her neighbors. Usually they only rent the rooms for a few hours though, and rarely ever this late.

It takes her a few minutes of trying to ignore the noise, to notice that something is wrong.

There is only one voice, raspy and almost pained and then it stops suddenly with a loud gasp.

She is just about to close her eyes, when a door is thrown close and loud footsteps pass her door.

Curious, she tip toes across her dark room and glances out of the window.

There, perched on a picnic table outside is a familiar figure.

Juan Carlos, this time without his hood, is sitting slumped over, his head in his hands, a lit cigarette dangling between his fingers.

Beside him stands a Bottle and he takes a long swing from it before setting it down.

It's a pathetic picture. The early morning hours of a Tuesday are never a good time, and everyone who is up either has work to do or is contemplating their life choices.

There is no in between.

And he sure as hell doesn't look like he has work to do.

Beth throws on a Jacket and steps out.

The night is warm, but it brings a cold wind from the country side and she shivers.

"Is everything okay?" she asks him and he blanches.

His arms flies up, as if to protect his face and he falls backwards onto the floor, taking the Glass Bottle with him. When he looks up at her she can see first fear, the embarrassment, then anger.

"What the fuck?" he shouts.

Beth stands shock still, eyes wide and immediately kneels down, small pieces of rock cutting into her knees.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

When she tries to extend a hand, he winces again and scrambles to his feet.

"Stay the fuck away for me." he barks and marches off, hands curled to fists and disappears back in his own room.

Beth blinks.

Once, twice.

Then she looks down and sees the Label, still sticking to the glass shards strewn across the gravel.

Dewar's Scotch Whiskey.

The next Morning, Beth still feels awful. The late night meeting had left her rattled and her heart beating fast against her rib cage until she had finally managed to get up and step back into her room. It took another 20 minutes for the trembles to stop and when her alarm had rung that morning she had still felt guilty.

Now, she is cruising through the small supermarket in the town, looking for the foods she could cook with just the water boiler and microwave in her room and that is when she spots the Glass bottle with the white Label.

By the time she is off to work (just a short shift, thank god) Juice steps out of his own apartment and finds a Bottle of Dewar's Scotch Whiskey by his feet. On it is a small sticky notes that just reads "Sorry".

He is sitting outside, on that same bench when Beth comes back. She is dirty, smells of fast food and wants nothing more than a shower, but still she walks over to him. She can see short hairs rowing on his head when she steps closer and he blows a cloud of smoke before throwing away his cigarette.

"You scared me." he says simply and Beth knows that it's his way of apologizing so she smiles.

"I got some food from the Diner, you wanna share?" she asks, remembering his lack of money from the night before, and holds up a white paper bag, stapled at the top and with already forming grease stains on the bottom.

He shakes his head and Beth is disappointed for a second, before she chastises herself. She shouldn't have asked. He had made it quite clear that he didn't wanna be near her. And she is determined to stay away from him, when his fingers closed around her wrist when she is just about to walk away and he cleares his throat.

"You got any Fruits?" he asks.

"I got some apples and some stuff to make a salad." she offers and sees a glint in his eyes but he still seems hesitant to ask if he can have it, even though it's obvious that that's what he wants.

"I was just gonna throw it away, so feel free to eat it." she offers even though it's a lie. She bought it this morning, none of it opened and only one apple is missing from the pack.

"I'll be there in a bit."

She hears him knock when she is still in the shower and just shouts for him to come in.

Once the smell of food is washed off her skin, she gets dressed and steps into the dirty little Motel room that is currently her home.

Juan Carlos is sitting on the small Table, a knife she doesn't know where it came from in hand, and is chopping cucumbers and bell peppers, throwing them all together in a big bowl. The Bottle of whiskey is sitting beside him, parts of it already missing and she asks herself what had happened to him, that he was drinking straight whiskey before it was even dark outside.

First they don't talk much, Beth nibbling on her cold fast food and her guest devouring his food, like a seamen dying of scurvy.

She has to smile.

"Haven't had much fresh food, huh?" she asks once she has decided that the Diner food was too cold to eat.

He looks up, and she almost sees a rosy tint in his cheeks when he gives her an apologetic smile.

"Prison got shit food" he says and when he notices what he just said, he stops and look up, eyes hesitant, yet defiant and Beth swallows. He is a felon.

It doesn't surprise her.

She wants to ask what he went in for, but she doesn't want to hear the answer.

No, for now she just wants to enjoy the company of a genuine person. Its been while since she has had that.

So, she grabs the bottle of Whiskey and takes a sip.

It burns.

It feels nice.

2 Glasses and she feels herself relax.

5 and she gets tired.

7 and she feels dizzy.

They are still sitting at the table and he is showing her his Tribal Tattoos, lets her trace them with a finger while he explains how he got them.

" I was new in that Town, got drunk and some friends convinced me to get a tattoo. They said 50$ for Arm, 70$ for Neck, 100$ for Head. I was drunk and broke and woke up with headache like someone had decided to try out a new sledgehammer on me." he explains and Beth laughs.

He is funny. He smiles at her, and that's the first time really notices how pretty he is.

Under all the bruises, and cuts and sadness, she sees a boy he might have been before he came here. Before he decided to run from whatever it is he is running from.

Before he came up north with no money and no car.

And she wishes she could have known him then. Wishes that she could have met him in a Diner long before, when they both were still happy, when things were not so fucked up and where they could have been much more innocent than now.

By the time the sun goes up, her dizziness has turned into nausea and his laughter is long gone.

Now, he is sitting in her Bed, back against the headboard, the last bit of that golden liquid swirling in the bottle as he lifts it up and takes the last drag from it.

He has been telling her about home, about a repair shop and family and kids and wives and drinks and parties. He talked about motorcycles, he used to have one he said, and about video games and green tea cleanses.

But now his eyes are dark, glazed, and she knows that where ever his thoughts are, is not a happy place anymore.

But she can't think straight anymore, her skin and lips are tingling and she just wants to lay there and imagine what they could have been.

It's light outside and Beth cannot say if she has fallen asleep between now and before or if she has just been laying there, staring at the ceiling.

She sits up, still feeling the alcohol coursing through her veins when she leans against the wall.

"Why did you go to prison?" she asks him. When he turns to look at her she sees that he wishes she would not have asked that question.

She sees regret and doubt and hatred and when he finally opens his mouth, his tongue feels heavy like lead and the words taste like poison.

"Murder." he says

Betrayal, he thinks.

It's a Thursday and Beth tells him to go up to Rory's repair shop and find work.

Rory is a woman. That is different. She is tall and strong and takes no shit, but she gives him a chance and tells him that one of her guys is doing some time for Dealing so he can work there for now.

They don't put him on a payroll, but he takes home 150$ that night and spends half of it on fruits on the way home. His Body needs vitamins and taste and freshness.

Then he also takes a Bottle of Whiskey, because his mind needs numbness and forgetting and quiet.

Once he is at home, he puts the food into the mini fridge, labels visible and neatly stacked atop each other.

He invites Beth over and they eat again, and he drinks again. She shakes her head when he offers her the Bottle only to take it out of his hands an hour later, when they are sitting on the dirty Rug in his Room and she tells him.

Tells him about her sickness, her recovery, her relapse. Tells him that the sickness had been a man, with strong hands and sweet words. How her recovery had been a women's house in Baltimore and her relapse, bad decisions and forgiveness where none was deserved.

She shows him the scar she has, the one that made her leave. The one that ran from her leg to her Belly Button where someone had pushed her into traffic, where a big piece of metal had been sticking, slicing through liver and flesh and muscle.

They connect through pain and need. Pain from the past and need from the Present. Need for company, for closenes, for love.

But neither one of them move when they look each other in the eyes. When she can see his pupil dilated wide and his eyes bloodshot, when she feels his breath on her lips, promising all kinds of things.

Instead, he lowers his head to her shoulder and her hands goes to his neck, holding him while he breathes heavily before he bolts off the bed and vomits into the toilet.

It stinks.

Beth knows that it's not healthy. That they hold onto each other while they sink and that they can't keep drinking to feel better. But she doesn't want to leave and neither does he.

So she drags him to town two days later.

She hasn't seen him since the night on his floor and hasn't had anything stronger than soda even though she assumes that he has.

They are at a bar. It's dark and the music is too loud but they only serve beer and Beth wants to get him away from the whiskey.

And there she sees another side of him. One that shows confidence when a petite brunette comes up to him. She is pretty. Not even trashy, just pretty.

And he flirts back and Beth can only guess that he is, or was, used to the attention. The girls and the chase. But every now and then she sees him close his eyes in concentration, every time the girl looks away or goes to get more drinks. It looks almost like he has to convince himself to keep going and he seems to succeed for every time she comes back he smiles again.

And Beth talks to Tom. Tom is nice.

Tom runs a Drugstore and puts his hands on her lower back. Not low enough to be obscene, but too low to hide his intentions and Beth wants to say yes. Because he is handsome and fun and pays her drinks but she doesn't say yes.

Instead she leaves alone, just 15 minutes after Juan Carlos leaves with the brunette. He had searched for her eyes through the crowd and given her a nod and a smirk. She had just raised her bottle in his direction when he walked out.

Now she was sitting behind the steering wheel, too drunk to really drive but she has to get home. So she drives slowly, trying to focus as much as she can, because she doesn't have a death wish.

She gets to the motel.

The neon sign is still bright and red and obnoxious and she hates it.

She arrives just in time to see the same little brunette from the Bar, throw the door shut. She is furious, wobbling across loose pebbles under her feet, her jacket is in her hand and Beth steps into her path before she can reach the car.

"What happened?" Beth asks.

"He is a fucking psycho is what happened." she snaps.

"Started freaking out when I wanted to take off his jeans, pushed me away like i was a fucking rag doll."

she stalks past Beth and gets into her car and drives off, little stones flying from under her wheels.

When she hears something break, she runs to his room. Beth pushes open the Door, but she doesn't see him immediately. It looks just like always, with the exception of a dark hoodie on the floor.

Then she hears a noise from the bathroom and that is where she finds him. The Mirror is gone, thousands of small pieces of glass are on the floor, in the sink, in the shower and he is curled up into a ball, his eyes wide and panicked and she sees blood dripping from his hand, where more glass is etched into his skin.

"Fuck."

She kneels down.

She doesn't know what to do. He is shaking so violently Beth is worried he might hurt his teeth and when she reaches out, he flinches, bangs his head against the tiles of the shower. She stops her hand in midair.

"Juan, it's me." she says softly and she sees that he recognizes her but he cant stop the shaking. His breathing is all wrong, too shallow, too fast and she slowly moves, his eyes always on her until she sits beside him and wraps her arms around his vulnerable frame and then he just kind of collapses into her and the shaking turns into crying, heavy sobs and words, falling so fast from his lips that its hard to understand them.

"I though... I thought I could do it." he stammers and Beth strokes his head, hushing for him to calm down.

"Fuck... i just wanna... Fuck... Fuck him. Fuck this. I just wanna get back to normal."

She presses kisses against his neck and nods even though she doesn't know what he is talking about .

"He just had one job... just one Fucking Job. Couldn't do it right."

Her arms tighten.

"He promised it would be quick. I don't wanna be here. I was supposed to be gone."

She doesn't understand, but she knows that he is talking of dark things, heinous and cruel and dreadful.

She holds him until his body gets still and when he looks up to her she sees shame in his eyes, red and still brimmed with tears and it breaks her heart.

It's quiet then, and the blood from his fist is on his cheek and neck and she can now see that the bandage is gone from around his neck and deep wounds have cracked open, bleeding down his chest, dying his white shirt a dark red and the look of it makes the hairs on her arms stand to attention.

She shivers and then, she drags him up and he leans against the shower wall, his eyes looking anywhere but at her and she doesn't say a word.

Instead turns on the shower and lets the water run over them both. She takes off his shirt and starts cleaning the blood. It mixes with the clear water and runs down the drain in a stomach churning pink.

She cleans his wounds, picks the glass form his skin and gives him apologetic little smiles every time he hisses or flinches under her hands.

But the wounds keep bleeding and she looks around, trying to find something to stop it.

"My Backpack." he breathes and she nods before disappearing quickly. He slums back against the wall, the cold tiles against his heated skin and asks himself how long until she is gone for good.

Beth grabs the rucksack and empties everything on the bed and finds the bandages and plasters and returns to him. She wraps his hand carefully, soft fingers against rough skin and then does the same to his neck. She is wet, her shirt clinging to her Body, hair plastered against her head and for just a second he thinks about kissing her, because she is here and warm and so damn good but just the thought makes his chest constrict in panic and so he doesn't do anything, doesn't move until she is done.

"I'll be in your room." she says and even her voice is soft.

He needs to be alone. Just for a minute.

He knows he should feel better, but he can't. He can't help but feel weak and stupid and so god damn vulnerable that he just wants leave. Leave her, leave this, leave this whole goddamn night far behind him and start again. But he knows he can't do that either because that is what he has been trying for a few weeks now and he has driven up the west coast, and still the events hunt him. It's still in his head, ready to strike when he lets his mind wander.

So, he takes a few deep breaths and when he opens the door, she is sitting on the bed, all small and innocent and in her hands is his gun. It's a bizarre picture. Innocent and deadly, side by side and her eyes seem impossibly large.

He crosses his Arms over his chest and leans against the door frame.

Beth looks up and puts away the gun.

He has wide shoulders, wider than you would guess under his usual hoodie and she looks at his tattoos, doting his torso and arms like small pieces of art, and she smiles when she sees the words 'Son' and 'Shine' on his chest. The New bandages stand in stark contrast to his tan skin and when she finally lifts her gaze to his face she is relieved to see him looking back at her.

It's still dark outside and Beth watches how we walks over to the window and grabs the Bottle of Whiskey he has standing there just to return back to the bed and sit down beside her.

He takes a big gulp and turns his face towards her.

"Juice." he just says and Beth frowns.

"My Name is Juice." he explains and she waits for him to continue.

"I used to live in Charming. Small town in California and there was this club..." he starts.

Its just before dawn and Beth can't sleep. Juan Carlos- Juice- she tells herself, had been talking for about an hour before he fell asleep and now his face was resting just under her collarbone, one arm wrapped around her waist and she can't sleep because she is thinking about these people she has never met.

About people who have been criminals and murderers and she sees him right in the middle of it, first laughing and then getting more and more isolated with each bad decision he takes. He had told her with tears and humiliation about the Sons and about how he had been sent to prison to commit one final murder for them, for this family that had not cared for him when he needed it most. He had told her about the failed suicide and, later on, the failed attempt on his life and she had let silent tears fall when he had talked about the relief he had felt when he had been laying on the dirty floor of the Prison, his life bleeding onto the filthy linoleum only to wake up in the infirmary days later.

But he had refused to talk about what had happened in prison, had been adamant to only talk about his purpose there and his exit and Beth feels that there is more, but she doesn't have the heart to push him.

So she just lays there, listening to his breath and her fingers dancing over the big, blacked out square on his back.

The next day, they go out and buy a map.

And after a month and a half of working, they leave the Motel and drive further north, because she knows that they can't outrun Juices nightmares, or his panic attacks, or his past, but they can try.


End file.
